


The Death of a King

by ReignPain



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Betrayal, Jack being Jack, M/M, Race is not amused, Robbery, Shooting Guns, Swearing, The Refuge, blood mention??, theres no actual death chill, violence??, well not main character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 01:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReignPain/pseuds/ReignPain
Summary: He was running. He loved to run, the adrenaline pumped through Antonio’s veins as he ducked into another alley way. The sirens blared in the distance, his legs ached, the night was still new. He slid behind a dumpster to take a breath, the day’s events playing in his head.Or:The Refuge was at the edge of the city, tucked away from prying eyes. It claimed to give kids a ‘new beginning’, what bullshit Antonio would find that to be.





	The Death of a King

He was running. He loved to run, the adrenaline pumped through Antonio’s veins as he ducked into another alley way. The sirens blared in the distance, his legs ached, the night was still new. He slid behind a dumpster to take a breath, the New York winter burning his lungs and the day’s events playing in his head. 

It was simple jewelry store stick up. His boyfriend, Spot, had done this a million times, this was only Antonio’s second. His job was simple, get the money and expensive shit, then get back to the car. He didn’t even have a gun.

Hot Shot went in first, followed by Spot. Antonio waited with York for the signal; a gunshot. He felt sick when it rang through the air. He ran in, bag in hand and took the cash from the cashier’s trembling hands, as he went to grab a handful for necklaces, a second shot flew past him, then a third. He paused trying to block out the screams. They weren’t supposed to actually kill anyone! Everything was moving too quickly, he felt Spot plant a dry kiss on his cheek, by then his hands were miraculously empty. It was the squealing of their getaway car and nearby sirens that snapped him out of his trance. Antonio sprinted out of the store, through alleys, diving around cars. His blond curls stuck to his forehead and salty tears ran down his face. What was he doing with his life?

He sighed. It was fine, he was fine, most of the people in that store were fine. 

It was time to run again, he reached the back of his of his boyfriend’s apartment building in no time. “Sean? Are you-” As soon as Antonio walked in, his ams were seized and he was pushed back against a wall. The room was filled with armed cops, in the middle stood Spot Conlon turned Sean, his face twisted into exaggerated pain. Antonio struggled against their grip. “What’s going on?” They ignored him.

“Is this him?” One of the officers asked.  
Sean nodded. “T - that’s him. That’s Racetrack Higgins.” Antonio was numb as they cuffed him. He watched as guilt flashed in his boyfriend’s eyes as he mouthed ‘I love you’. Antonio didn’t reply. 

Antonio was only sixteen. They kept him in a holding cell for a few hours before transporting him to a youth prison, The Refuge was at the edge of the city, tucked away from prying eyes. It claimed to give kids a ‘new beginning’, what bullshit Antonio would find that to be. Its security was impeccable, its children miserable.

He got ushered into a small room and told to change. Antonio sighed and slipped behind the curtain. It wasn’t until he reached for his shirt that he felt it. A dark, sticky substance splattered across the hem. He pulled his hand away to see spotty red. “Oh god,” he muttered. The blood stained his shirt as well as the skin underneath. “Oh god, oh godohgod. No.” He knew exactly whose it was. 

Oscar Delancey was a cashier at the jewelry store, and Antonio’s best friend’s older brother, they hadn’t hung out together since Tony started dating Spot; a popular senior at The World high school. That was a whole year ago. Oh god, why did Oscar have to be working that night? 

The officer banged on the door and told him to hurry up but Antonio didn’t hear him. He ripped the shirt off and threw it out of sight before putting his uniform on. The guard mumbled a ‘finally’ when the blond exited. “You got showers ‘round here?” the sixteen year old asked, his voice hoarse.  
“You’re a bit late for that. So you’re gonna hafta live with the smell of blood for a while.” Antonio groaned at the word, his stomach churning. The little food he had eaten came up, burning his throat as it went, and found itself on the guard’s uniform. 

After getting yelled at, Antonio was sent to his room. It was small with an additional room with what looked like a bathroom, and a few bunk beds. However, there only seemed to be one other resident. The blond was met with the smirk of a roughed up brunet. He wore the same uncomfortable tee shirt and cargo shorts, on his feet were ratty converse high tops caked with mud and a dark carmine that Tony didn’t want to think about. It suddenly made him feel self-conscious about the black Doc Martens he still had on from the night before. The stranger looked down at him almost like a predator eyed his prey (or like Sean Conlon looked at his money, and once, his boyfriend) before laughing. “Look, Albie!” He exclaimed, “Racetrack Higgins; our very own roommate.” There was that name again. Antonio looked beyond the brunet to see a tuft of red hair in one of the top bunks, his feet resting on the ceiling. 

“Whatever,” Tony muttered, pushing past the teen and settling down on a bare mattress.  
“You’s gonna miss dinner,” he said. The blond ignored him. 

\---

The pop echoed out of the store, Antonio stumbled out of York’s rusty old sentra, the ground erupted in screams the very second his foot hit the smooth pavement. He felt Spot’s lips meet his flushed cheek, and like that, he fell through the street. The screams grew louder. In them he could hear his friends, his boyfriend, what was once his family. Shit, what the fuck did he do? 

“Race… Race!” 

Tony sat up with a gasp, his eyes darted around the room trying to figure out where he was. His roommate was hovering over him, looking more concerned than Antonio cared to notice. “What d’you want?” he snapped. 

The brunet sighed. “Looked like you were having some nightmare.”  
“You got a name?” Tony asked, swinging his leg over the side of the bed.  
“Jack Kelly,” he replied, the smile back on his face. Antonio rolled his eyes at the smug reply and fluffed out his pillow and laid back down. It was going to be a long night.

The next morning at breakfast, Antonio was joined by his two roommates as well as a few other boys in tow. “Would ya look at that, I’m having brunch with the infamous Racetrack Higgins!” A kid with messily done brown hair exclaimed, making a show of sitting at their table. 

“Lay off, Finch,” Jack said, plopping down rather ungracefully between Tony and a teen with wavy chocolate colored hair. “‘Sides, we didn’t fangirl about you running around crying when you got here.”

The blond watched with silent relief and satisfaction as Finch’s ears flushed red from sheer embarrassment. “I don’ need you sticking up for me,” he mumbled, picking at the concrete donut-shape-biscuit before him. It was such a drastic difference from the homemade biscuits he and Sean made the morning prior.

Jack merely winked at Tony before striking a conversation with the teen on his other side.  
“So Mister Racetrack,” A bespectacled boy said, slathering an ungodly amount of butter on his donut-biscuit-thing. “How did a criminal mastermind like yerself get thrown into a place like the Refuge?”

Antonio bit his cheek and tried to ignore Albert's piercing gaze as well as Glasses’ raised eyebrow. “Who the hell is Racetrack?” He blurted, surprising himself and just about the entire table. Someone started to say something, either an explanation or a denial, but Tony wouldn’t have it. “My name,” he stated, shooting up from his seat. “Is Antonio. ANNE - TOE - NEO.” Then, Race stalked off, leaving the group, and most of the dining hall, in shock. 

There, he said it. The meaningless name that would never have Spot rolling unnecessary letters to sound fancy, a name that would soon be dotted with a dot instead of a heart. A name that meant absolutely nothing anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll add more chapters to this at some point
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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